Saviar stood at Subikahn’s urging. “All right, then. We’d best be getting home then.”
“Not ‘we.’ You, Brother.”
Saviar sighed. “Oh, so I have to avoid garroting and stoning, but those are perfectly all right for you.”
“I’ve already told you. I’m barred from ‘running to Mama.’ ”
“Barred by whom?”
“By King Tae Kahn of Stalmize.”
Saviar could not imagine Tae doing anything that might discomfort Subikahn, or even Saviar. “Why?”
Subikahn turned away. “I’ve already told you. I’m not ready to talk about it.”
Frustration gripped Saviar, and he winched his hand onto his hilt. Usually, a Renshai vented irritation or anger in a wild volley of swordplay.
The gesture was not lost on Subikahn. “You’re not going to batter it out of me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Saviar let go of his hilt. “A spar would be nice.”
“Tomorrow,” Subikahn promised. “In the light of day.”
Unsatisfied, Saviar remained in position. “At least give me enough information to understand what you can and cannot do.”
“Well . . .” Subikahn stroked his chin, though nothing had yet started growing on it. “If I tell you, do you promise to go home for the night?”
Saviar wanted to qualify the amount of information that would satisfy him. Weighing that need against the concern that Subikahn might just go completely silent on the subject again, he reluctantly agreed. “Yes.”
“Do you remember that my granpapa sent my papa away to survive on his own?”
Saviar studied his twin. “You mean that horrible gap in Tae’s life story that he refuses to talk about and swore he would never inflict on anyone?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yes.”
“He inflicted it on me.”
Saviar could only stare. His mind went utterly blank. He knew Tae, knew how much he adored his son, knew the lingering bitterness toward his own father for the exile. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Tae would never—”
“He would, and he did.”
Saviar still could not grasp what Subikahn had told him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He tried again but still managed nothing.
“It’s no help you doing a fish imitation. It’s true. And what’s more, I deserved it.”
Saviar finally forced out words. “Who did you brutally murder?”
Subikahn loosed an amused snort. “I didn’t kill anyone, Saviar.”
“Did you raze Stalmize Castle stone by stone?”
“Of course not.”
Saviar continued guessing, “Act like such an incredibly spoiled little prince that Tae thought you needed—?”
“That would be closest,” Subikahn admitted. “But I’m done with this game. I already told you I’m not ready to talk about it.”
Taken aback again, Saviar fell silent. He had only been kidding with his last guess, but could not think of anything suitably catastrophic to make Tae banish his son. “So what are you supposed to do?”
“Travel all over. Not run to Mama. Return ‘worldly.’ ”
“That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“You didn’t hear Papa. He made it sound like a death sentence.”
Though Subikahn had closed the topic, Saviar could not help saying, “You must have done something awful.”
“Yeah.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Clearly Subikahn would not continue, so Saviar came at it from another angle, “What does Talamir think of all this?”
Subikahn stiffened.
Clued, Saviar persisted. “Where is your torke?”
“Still in Stalmize,” Subikahn said, a little too casually. “I have to do this alone. If we both headed for the Fields of Wrath at the same time, I would have strong company. That would defeat the purpose of the exile.”
Still believing he had found a clue, but not knowing what it meant, Saviar continued along the same lines. “So Talamir is coming home soon.”
“That’s my understanding.”
A dead end. Saviar knew Subikahn would not put up with much more questioning and hoped the night might bring the situation into better perspective. “So, has your journey been the hardship your papa said it would be?”
Subikahn lifted one shoulder, then dropped it. “That’s the thing, Savi. I’ve just gone from inn to inn, getting treated like a prince. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m not exactly sure what the point of the whole thing is. It’s not like the criminal underground is intent on slaughtering me like they were my papa.”
It did seem odd. “Well, you haven’t stayed in any inns recently.” Saviar gestured toward the distant Southern Mountain range. Once beyond the boundaries of the Eastlands, Subikahn had had to slog across the harsh and desolate desert known as the Western Plains, plow through one of the few mountain passes, and negotiate the maze of Westland forests east of Erythane. There, at least, he could have bought some supplies in one of several tiny Western towns and villages.
“I’m used to that route.” Subikahn dismissed any suggestion of hardship, though Saviar knew better. The stretch between the Eastland border and the Westland forests was brutal, even in the best of times and accompanied by family and torke. “The Eastern innkeepers practically forced food on me, and I spent my money on more rations along the way. I stocked up plenty for the desert and mountains. Thieves only approached me once, and I dispatched them quickly enough.” He grinned. “The day I can’t handle a few brigands is the day I commit tåphresëlmordat.”
Saviar glanced at the stars, finding familiar patterns in their twinkling sameness. It brought back happy memories of sparring with his brother on the rocks, talking quietly about things no one but a twin could understand. “For now, perhaps, you could commit to a bath. I’ll bring you food and fresh clothes.”
Subikahn opened his mouth, but Saviar talked over him.
“If you can take those things from innkeepers, you can take them from your brother.”
“I shouldn’t—” Subikahn started. “I won’t—”
Saviar assisted, “The words you’re looking for are ‘thank’ and ‘you.’ And it wouldn’t hurt to add, ‘best brother of all time.’ ”
“Thank you, best brother of all time.”
“You’re welcome. See how easy that was?”
“Very easy,” Subikahn admitted. “This whole thing has been too easy.” His voice held a twinge of pain, one only Saviar could notice. Though Saviar did not believe his brother was lying, Subikahn was definitely hiding something excruciating.
“Well, you’re out of the Eastlands now. No one will treat you like a prince. And the North . . .” Saviar examined his brother’s small form, from his black mop of snarled hair, past the sword at his belt, to the battered Eastern-crafted sandals on his swarthy feet. “They’ll notice you don’t belong there, but, at least, they’d never guess you’re Renshai.”
“Yes,” Subikahn said. “And you’re stalling. You promised to go home.”
“And you promised me a spar tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be here, right?”
“Would I forget to wish you a happy birthday?” Subikahn shuffled backward, his dark form disappearing into the shadows. Some of the early Renshai maneuvers came from time spent with wild barbarians during their travels. Subikahn excelled at those moves, enhanced by his father’s agility and training. “Now go.”
Happy Birthday. As hard as he tried, Saviar could not forget. Nineteen tomorrow and not yet a man. Grudgingly, he went.
The morning dawned clear and crisp, warm for autumn yet with a breeze that kept Saviar’s sweaty muscles comfortable. He faced off with his torke, Nirvina, who had already twice knocked him on his buttocks. Most days, he found her a close match. Now, distracted by concern for Subikahn,
he launched into his third attack. His sword glittered in a deadly arc that she met and parried. Saviar bore in, attempting to use his strength against her. Nirvina dodged easily, ducked beneath his sword arm and came up behind him.
Saviar whirled to face her, but not quickly enough. She slammed the flat of her blade against his chest. For the third time, he found himself sitting in the grass.
Nirvina glared, her features sharper than usual. Her thick, sandy hair lay stick straight nearly to her shoulders. Bangs dangled over her broad forehead, shadowing harsh blue-green eyes and a pinched nose. “Saviar, what in darkest, coldest Hel is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry, torke.” Saviar sprang to his feet. “My mind is elsewhere.”
“Your mind is elsewhere than battle? What good is worrying about the future when you’re dead?” Nirvina rushed him with drawn sword.
Saviar ducked under the strike, then spun and cut with proper dexterity. His sword wove over hers, and the tip found her hilt. He prepared to flick it from her hand, but she withdrew too swiftly. Her blade drove under his with lethal speed. He batted it down, recovered in a loop, then swept for her head. Nirvina ducked, opening her defenses for a split second that Saviar seized. He slammed his blade across her shoulders with enough force to send her staggering. This time, she toppled.
“That’s better!” Nirvina rolled to her feet in an instant and clapped her hands. “Fight like that during your testing tomorrow, and you’re a certainty. Fight like you did a moment ago, and you’ll be nineteen before you reach manhood.”
Saviar flinched. “I am nineteen. Today.”
“Today?” Nirvina raised her brows. “Well, happy birthday, boy. Now that we’ve got your mind back, let’s see what you can do.”
She squared for another assault just as Erlse rode up, his brown mare frothy, her nostrils dilated. “We’re gathering on the testing grounds,” he announced, then pointed directly at Saviar. “Thialnir’s asked for you especially.” He spurred his mount into a gallop.
“What’s this about?” Saviar wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Nirvina said, tone full of question and caution, “but I suggest we get there quickly.”
They both hurried toward the enormous open field that served as the main square for celebrations and rare pronouncements, mock battles, and testing. They raced through stubble-strewn practice areas, around a cluster of cottages, and through a scraggly field of prairie grass. A mixed hubbub of voices, speaking at least two different languages wafted to them long before the main square hove into view. Ahead, Saviar noticed, a crowd of Renshai were already gathering. He also saw the black and orange banner of King Humfreet and several white chargers. Knights. The run itself scarcely winded Saviar, but his heart pounded as if he had raced for miles. He scarcely noticed he had lost Nirvina in his headlong rush.
Saviar slowed to a walk, weaving between the waiting Renshai. What he could pick out of their conversations seemed expectant and surmising; they did not yet know why the King of Erythane had come to call. Though he would have preferred to join his mother, who stood with Calistin in the midst of the crowd, Saviar dutifully headed toward the mounted king and his entourage. He would surely find Thialnir there.
As he drew closer, Saviar sorted out the visitors. About a dozen Northmen milled amidst the mounted king, his bodyguards, and six Knights of Erythane, including Ra-khir and Kedrin. Only one Renshai had joined them, the massive Thialnir, who scanned the crowd expectantly. As his gaze found Saviar, he called out, “There he is,” and gestured broadly for the youngster to join them.
Saviar came, trying not to slouch. His every adolescent instinct pleaded for him to run and hide, yet he knew better than to delay, or even display poor posture, in the presence of the knights. Instead, he approached warily, his gaze scanning the most likely threat: the Northmen. All adult males, but one, they watched his every movement with clear suspicion. Saviar could not help meeting the familiar gaze of the last Northman, Verdondi Eriksson, the one he had sparred with in Béarn’s practice room. The boy stared back at him, pale eyes wide and jaw gaping.
Ra-khir frowned, shook his head, and rolled his gaze to King Humfreet.
Catching the gist of his father’s discomfort, Saviar swiftly performed a deep and gracious bow.
Thialnir chose that moment to thrust a scroll into Saviar’s hands. “What do you think of this?” The political leader of the Renshai had always seemed so massive, solid and competent; yet his clammy fingers betrayed a nervousness his demeanor otherwise hid. His look seemed almost pleading. In the past, Thialnir had always seemed unflappable, terrifying, and rock-stable. Saviar wondered if the Renshai leader had softened in the past few months or only seemed to have because Saviar had seen his vulnerable side and learned the inner workings of the leader’s job.
Attempting to appear nonchalant, Saviar rose, unrolled the top portion of the scroll, and silently read. The cause for Thialnir’s discomfort became instantly clear. Written in a flowery hand, gratuitously verbose, it betrayed its author as a royal advocate. The entire first paragraph spoke of a binding agreement between the Northmen and the Renshai, discussing who represented each of these at the signing, how they would be referred to throughout the document, and the presence of the king of Erythane. Like most Renshai, Thialnir was a simple, proud man who cared little for anything other than swordwork, and the sheer mass of the contract might drive him to distraction.
Saviar looked up to find every eye upon him. He wished he could melt into the weeds like liquid, yet he also knew that Thialnir needed him. Desperately. He had little choice but to appear in charge. He bowed to King Humfreet again. “Your Majesty, if it pleases you, this is a long document. May I have some time to read it?”
The king smiled, his lips nearly disappearing into the thick, jowly creases of his moon face. “Of course, Saviar Ra-khir’s son. Take all the time you need.”
Relief flooded Saviar. His weeks in Béarn had given him courage when it came to addressing royalty, yet he had never spoken to the king of Erythane before. While formality ill-suited the commonly named Griff of Béarn, King Humfreet seemed to wear it as a mantle.
Saviar took a deep breath before continuing. He did not want to stretch his luck too far. “If it also pleases His Majesty, I would like to borrow one of your knights.”
The grin broadened, revealing pearly teeth. “You may use the services of even my captain, if you need him, Saviar.”
“Most generous, Your Majesty.” Saviar would have settled for his father, but he dared not belittle such a charitable gift. He turned his attention to Knight-Captain Kedrin and bowed again. His mouth formed the words, “Come along, Grandpapa,” but his mind knew better than to speak them as such. Instead, he kept up the necessary ritual, “If you would be willing, Sir Captain?”
Kedrin saluted Saviar, bowed to his king, then dismounted. Leaving the charger to his own devices, Kedrin came to Saviar’s side, then followed him past the gathering, through a small field, and into the shade of the first row of cottages. There, Saviar loosed a pent-up breath but dared not drop all pretenses. Kedrin was on duty.
Upending an empty rain barrel, Saviar sat.
Kedrin settled onto a low wall of rock surrounding a small garden. “Would you like some help making sense of that document?”
“I would,” Saviar said. “I’ll get the gist of it, I think. I’d just like to be sure I don’t lock us into something I don’t understand.” There was more to Saviar’s concern. He wanted the chance to read the words in a hush that allowed him to absorb and make sense of them, but he also worried about misunderstanding. He could never forgive himself if he comprehended every word and still advised a course of action that endangered the tribe. Unable to continue in this manner, he finally dropped pretenses. “What’s this all about?”
Kedrin studied Saviar without a hint of emotion. “Are you asking me as a representative of the Renshai? Or as my grandson?”
Saviar attempted to consider the question
, but found himself too inexperienced to know which one he wanted. “Which will give me the most direct answers?”
“Grandson.”
Saviar made a straight line gesture. “Speak frankly, Grandpapa.”
Kedrin attempted a smile, though it came out tired and lopsided. “I’ve read the whole thing, Saviar, even helped draft portions of it to keep it fair.”
Saviar unrolled the next paragraph, bobbing his head. It made sense that the king would employ the Knights of Erythane to keep the matter impartial and the contract binding. He read the next several paragraphs in silence. “The Northmen want to battle us? In single combat.”
“One to one,” Kedrin confirmed.
Saviar continued reading. Despite the excessive verbiage, he believed he teased out all the salient points. “If the Renshai win, we get back our ancient homeland in the North: Renshi.” For once, the words on the document seemed too simplistic for what they described. Hundreds of years ago, Renshi had become divvied up among the neighboring tribes, and Saviar wondered how anyone could still recall the ancient borders. At the time of the Great Banishment, the North had consisted of seventeen tribes. Now, there were only nine. Even if they could redefine Renshi, it meant displacing the Gjar, Blathe, and Shamirins who currently resided there.
Kedrin anticipated the question, “Historians and mapmakers spent a long time defining the proper location. The Northern captain, Erik Leifsson, does have the dispensation of the high king in Nordmir to endorse the agreement.”
Verdondi’s father. Saviar could not help smiling. It had to have caught the young man by surprise to find his sparring partner, the son of a knight, was also a budding leader of Renshai.
Kedrin folded his arms across his chest. “Assuming they won, the Renshai would also keep the Fields of Wrath in Erythane. The Paradisians have agreed to fully surrender their claim to the land in that circumstance.”
Flight of the Renshai Page 22
